Poetry By Susan Vespoli

       Matteo Paciotti CC




My son as hummingbird

hovering lantana, dipping his beak 
into purple cups, tiny fluorescent 
helicopter     he, watches me:
a giant toddler screaming FUCK.

After all my 12-step meetings, 
meditation, YouTube yoga, 
giving up dessert, grief therapy, 
communing with dogs and sunsets, 

I still melt down like a two-year old 
dropping computer bag, 
laptop smacked on asphalt, 
papers and postage stamps carried off by the wind.

Already late, sleep deprived.     
Alone.            My  street    empty 
except for him flittering above flowers, 
nodding, waiting till I see him. 

                 Hi, Mom. It’s me. I’m here.  

I stop.    

Adam as hummingbird watches me
     watch him
            his wings
                    so quick
                           he disappears.

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Susan Vespoli writes from Phoenix, Arizona. Her work has been published in Anti-Heroin Chic, Rattle, Nasty Women Poets: An Unapologetic Anthology of Subversive Verse, and others. Her poetry collection about addiction in her family, Blame It on the Serpent, is available from Finishing Line Press. All proceeds are donated to addiction support and recovery organizations. https://susanvespoli.com/
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